


When I Think About You...

by selecasharp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, POV Derek, POV Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selecasharp/pseuds/selecasharp
Summary: Derek has a request for Stiles.





	

**When I Think About You**

Derek watches as Stiles pulls his shirt off and drops it in a heap on the floor. His jeans are next, followed by his socks. His heart rate’s elevated, Derek notices, as he meets Derek’s eyes and touches the elastic band on his underwear. Tighty-whities. Normally Derek’s not a fan, but for Stiles, he’ll definitely make an exception.

Stiles clears his throat. “These too?”

Derek shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Okay.” Stiles drops his hands to his sides, his fingers tapping nervously on his thighs. “Where do you want me?”

Derek nods at the bench next to the window. “If that’s okay?”

Stiles turns his head and raises his eyebrows. “You were planning this,” he accuses, gesturing at the blanket Derek threw over the bench earlier. He’s pretending to look irritated, but Derek can tell that he’s actually relieved; his heart slows down, and his scent shifts, lacing with arousal, now. 

So Derek nods and gives him a tiny smile, and Stiles huffs and drops down onto the bench, kicking his bare legs up onto it and leaning back against the window casement. “Cold,” he says, a little breathless. He’s hard, Derek sees, his eyes tracing the line of Stiles’s erection through the cotton. His own cock swells in response.

“Tell me what to do,” Stiles says.

“Do whatever you want,” Derek tells him. He means it, too. “Just… let me watch.”

“You’re a big help,” Stiles mutters under his breath, but he reaches up and touches the fingers of his right hand to his neck. “Werewolves like necks, right?” he asks as he strokes over the pulse beating under his skin.

Derek’s breath catches. “More if we’re the ones touching them,” he says, growling a little, “but yes.”

Stiles’s lips curve into a wry smile. His fingers skip down his chest to his nipple. “You like these too.” As Derek watches, Stiles rubs a slow circle over the nub before pinching it between two fingers. He’s breathing harder, the scent of arousal sharper now, and Derek clenches his own hands into fists, his gaze intent as Stiles teases first one nipple then the other. His skin flushes, his nipples growing a darker pink with every pass, and as much as Derek wants to touch him, there’s something about this, about watching Stiles touch himself, that has him utterly captivated. 

He sucks in a breath when Stiles suddenly drops his hand to his thigh and spreads his fingers over the cotton covering his erection. “Not sure why you wanted these on,” Stiles murmurs, stroking his cock through the fabric. “But okay.” He arches, tipping his head back to expose his throat, making the dark flush on his nipples stand out as he rubs himself harder. The fabric is straining, his cock threatening to pop out, and Derek realizes that he’s growling under his breath. 

And then Stiles stops. Grins at him. And, without breaking Derek’s gaze, lifts his hips and slides the tighty-whities down over his thighs.

“Your turn,” he says.

 

**I Touch Myself**

Stiles feels totally ridiculous, sitting on some bench in front of a window stroking himself while his growly werewolf of a boyfriend sits on the bed and _watches_. Derek doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink as far as Stiles can tell, and being the focus of that much undivided attention? Yeah, it’s kind of unnerving.

At first.

He isn’t sure when the switch flips in his head, but it’s somewhere between rubbing his nipples and dropping his hand to palm at his cock (still covered by his briefs, for some bizarre reason Derek didn’t bother explaining) that he realizes he’s not nervous anymore. The opposite, in fact; now he’s enjoying himself. Partly it’s what he’s doing — because hello, he’s stroking his cock here, and that’s always awesome — but it’s also because of what it’s doing to Derek. Derek hasn’t moved, sure, but his hands are in fists, his breathing’s gone erratic, his eyes are flashing, and he’s _growling_. 

So Stiles makes it even more of a show, tilting his head back so Derek can see his throat and rubbing over his cock faster. He’s panting now, his skin tingling like Derek’s actually touching him with his gaze alone, and seriously, does Derek even realize what he’s doing to Stiles, with all that sexy growling and the way he’s (holy shit) biting his lip as he practically devours Stiles with his eyes?

Yeah, enough. 

Stiles stops, grins at Derek, and then grabs at the elastic slung low over his hips. It’s difficult to get his underwear off, but he’s had plenty of practice, and the moment he slides them off he hears Derek’s breath catch, his growls stuttering. He tosses the briefs aside.

“Your turn,” he says.

He’s not sure, exactly, what he means, whether it’s Derek’s turn to do a striptease or that it’s Derek’s turn to touch him, but honestly? Either option is fine with him. He doesn’t even lower his hand, just sits, his body trembling with tension as he watches Derek. Waiting.

Derek stands and abruptly yanks his shirt off. 

“Oh,” Stiles squeaks when Derek locks his gaze onto Stiles’s and then, slowly, touches his own nipples. “Oh,” he says again as Derek pinches them, mirroring Stiles’s actions earlier, and then glides his hand down the impossibly hard muscles of his abdomen to play with the button on his jeans. When he pulls the zipper and pushes them down, Stiles goes for a little variation and breathes out, “Oh, _yeah_.” 

Derek shucks his jeans off and then stands there, fully naked, fully hard, staring at Stiles. He drags in a breath, then wraps his hand around his erection and strokes. “You too,” Derek rasps, and Stiles grabs for his own dick. He can’t help crying out when he touches it, and Derek growls in response. “Faster,” he manages, and then they’re both off, eyes locked on the other as they jerk themselves.

Stiles comes first, of course. He almost always does, but this time it’s worth it, because as he arches his back and shouts, his cock pumping out over his fist, he can _see_ what it does to Derek. Derek’s eyes flash red and he bares his teeth, and then Derek is coming too, his cock spurting out over his hand and spattering the floor between them, before Stiles has even finished.

And then Derek’s on his knees next to the bench, his face pressed into Stiles’s neck, his arms tight around him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice muffled.

“No problem.” Stiles lays his cheek against Derek’s hair and adds, “But next time, strip a little slower.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written a loooong time ago in two parts, for the [you know they are mates](http://youknowtheyaremates.tumblr.com) tumblr. See [here](http://youknowtheyaremates.tumblr.com/post/127680855610/derek-watches-as-stiles-pulls-his-shirt-off-and) and [here](http://youknowtheyaremates.tumblr.com/post/127759261645/stiles-feels-totally-ridiculous-sitting-on-some) for the inspiration. :D NSFW!
> 
> Crossposted to LJ [here](http://teashopmuses.livejournal.com/99047.html).


End file.
